In my embryology class we were told by a neonatologist that everyone's butthole skin is a little darker. Babies can be born with anal openings elsewhere than normal (or no opening at all), but they usually have a little colored spot where the butthole is supposed to be.

I start med school in the fall and have been thinking about what I might want to focus in (and people ask me all the time). I'm leaning towards Emergency Medicine because I get bored easily and hate offices (work in care management office at a hospital right now) and I want to do Doctors Without Borders eventually.

What made you choose to be an ER doc? What would you say the best and worst aspects of your chosen specialty are?

When I was a freshman in high school my grandfather's lung cancer has progressed to the final stages and we spent spring break in the inpatient hospice unit at the hospital. I have a pretty big family and there were always people in my grandfather's room or in the breakroom for families of patients on that floor. The lady across the hall from him never had visitors, one day I popped in and started talking to her and read to her. She was pretty alert and very nice. I told her I'd see her the next day and read some more.

When we got there the next morning her room was empty.

I never told my family that I had gone to see her. I hope I brightened her last day somewhat.

A few years ago I had picked at the skin around my nail so badly that my cuticle and eventually nailbed became infected. After trying to cut off the giant inflamed growth that spurted out (NOPE) and rubbing neosporin on it a few times a day I went to the hand care ER at the hospital where I work. They had to cut off my fingernail and debride the infected tissue underneath. Fortunately, they numbed my whole hand so all I felt was pressure. Bandaged me up real good and sent my on my merry way with an antibiotic prescription and instructions to change the bandage daily and then soak my finger in 1/2 hydrogen peroxide and 1/2 warm water for 10 minutes. Overall A+ ER experience.

Here's where the bad part happens: they did not use nonstick gauze when they wrapped up my freshly de-nailed and debrided nailbed. So, the next day I'm trying to change my bandage before class, and I realized that I had to rip off an entire nailbed worth of scab. I couldn't do it, it felt like... I can't even describe it. Worse than broken bones and falls and running through a glass door. I would have rather just cut the damn finger off at that point than try to change my bandage.

Eventually my pathetic whimpering and stifled sobs woke up my roommate who had to do it for me, and she started crying because she was hurting me. Went to the Walgreens down the street and picked up nonstick gauze stat. No problems after that.

"A Tree Grows In Brooklyn" by Betty Smith.
I read it in high school and it changed how I thought about relationships and family. I stopped being such a self-centered brat to my parents because it hit me how much they had sacrificed for me and I realized they had a past before me that influenced their behavior.

I decided to try to get into medical school when I was a sophomore in college, already halfway into a photography degree. I kept my BFA and just did the pre-med prereqs. I always worried a little that if I didn't get in I wouldn't be able to do anything with my degree, or that my art degree would actually keep me out of medical school.

I got the acceptance email in November while in the printmaking lab working on my BFA show (basically a senior showcase of how awesome you are and all your friends and family come see your work in the school's gallery). I started crying and jumping and was so relieved. I felt like everything I had done had been worth it and all the stress and anxiety from the past two years just melted away.

She's very prim and proper, so my favorite game when we go grocery shopping is to be ridiculous enough that she gets annoyed to the point of swearing out loud in public. Usually she says, "For fuck's sake!" and is all ready to stomp off but then I say, "HAHA! I got you!" and do a victory dance; somehow this diffuses the situation and she isn't irritated anymore.

When I was 12 and my niece was 3 (my brother is 16 years older than I am) we were sitting in my parent's kitchen one morning eating breakfast. I was in charge of watching her while my mom took a shower. She started choking on her scrambled eggs and I gave her the heimlich (thank you, girl scouts) and she spit it out. She didn't even cry, just said, "That was weird," and went back to eating. I haven't really thought about it until now.